A Different Kind of Four Questions or
"Why is this massage different from all the other massages?"

It's the end of the week. Your body is tired from running around from appointment to appointment. Your muscles, front and back and on both sides, ache for release from the tensions of the week and more. A friend at work gives you my number. She says that I am very good about relieving “specific types of muscular tension” by talking and using my hands, that I’m size-friendly, and I either accept your health insurance plan or don’t charge if you’re limited in income but not ambition.

I also like to garage sale, visit historical towns and museums, art walks, hike without the ten essentials, believe in using Entertainment coupons on dates, like to take pictures, tell jokes, ride steam trains (and dream of pulling your own) and go for scenic drives with our digital cameras on the weekends. You call, as you really need to remove the stresses of your workweek.

You're a pleasantly erotically plump non smoking, light or non drinking woman who sees herself as attractive yet a little self-conscious about her body (aren’t we all?) You ask me as one of your four questions if I have massaged larger size women before. I tell you yes, I prefer woman with curves, particularly big breasts (I call them bodacious ta-tas) as they are more in tune with their bodies. You smile, thinking that HWP and other motor oil additives or thin woman are not in touch with their sexuality. They don't get massages or place personal ads. They are not very brave about living life on their terms. Men and women do not want them for who they are.

The other three questions in your mind are about whether or not I’m an affectionate and intelligent and able to talk from the heart, passionate kisser and pussy eater, and not leaving immediately after I (male person) have my orgasm. Being an older or less experienced woman, these are very important details.

You come over the next day.

Because you have "sprained your wrist", I help you undress in the golden setting sun. Letting my blue eyes meet yours to gain your trust as you examine my clean cut face, slightly receding short brown hair with a touch of gray, and a resemblance to Peter Sellers in his latte 40s (it’s said that I’m really permanently 39+10) only with a better smile and up-to-date glasses. I first remove your revealing in beautiful cleavage, white button down cotton blouse and/or camisole, letting it fall to the floor like your future inhibitions. Then the dark, confining, barely to the always bending knee skirt and slippery slip, then to the short barely below knee white stockings or maybe you like garter belts and stockings and flash me a little as I undo your shoes. Then I unhook your lacy demi-bra that's pushing your plump breasts up as if offering them to the gods (or should I say goddesses?) and let them fall free. If you are small breasted, I let you see a little look of lust as I gaze upon your tender hills and valley to make you feel better. You have forgotten that when it comes to relationships that it is what is inside that is important. I don't have you remove your soft white cotton or nylon panties or lacy white boy shorts. After all, I barely know you (and vice versa), yet, smile.

I remain dressed but with an open Polo sport shirt showing my forest of abundant brown chest hair that you fantasize running your fingers through. I begin by having you lay face down on the massage table, a towel covering your lower back, start working on your tense back, and talk to you softly like a tiger stalking his prey.

I start with your firm rounded shoulders, then your soft neck, faintly smelling sweetly of your favorite perfume "Elizabeth Taylor's Relaxation" as I move to your upper arms and knead them like dough. You notice that by being vertically challenged (5'5"), I am the right height to give a good massage on the firm, hard table. It's getting hot. I ask you if you mind if I take off my shirt. You look at my eyes with those innocent, doe eyes of yours and nod yes, yes, yes in approval as my furry copious chest hair is finally freed from imprisonment or hibernation.

Like a python waiting to encircle his next meal, I move downward from your upper back to the middle, pressing your breasts against the table with hands while stoking your upper back with my hairy chest, and begin kneading the sides of your breasts. Because your breasts are so large, I do them in sections. It is a nice feeling. Feeling pampered. You like the feeling.

From being carried around all day in a cage (bra), they need the massage for release from bondage. You want me to come closer to your nipples and massage the front of your large breasts. But when you ask me to do so, I tell you that I will do that later when I have you on your back, err, I mean turned over after completing this side's massage, I stammer. We both laugh. You feel yourself begin to sweat, inside and out.

I start work on your lower back. Remove the towel. Gently ask you to remove your concealing your wetness coverings. Begin pressing my tender fingers against your tired lower back muscles. Lightly stroking and fondling your tight ass, asking you (or do I demand?) to part your legs a little so I can massage your tired upper thighs. You comply like a good girl or is it bad as you part a little to much or let me see too much?

I massage your firm hilly left ass cheek, the one facing me. Tell you to "turn the other cheek, please.” You've heard the phase before but today, it has a new meaning. I can start to smell your horniness, your desire, your need but maintain a "professional distance" even though I specialize in such unique massages. Maybe I will have to write "bad girl" on your ass cheeks if you act "inappropriately". I hope you will.

I reach between your legs and start massaging your plump, chicken breast firm, throbbing thighs. The feel of my probing hands starts to awaken your desire as well as mine. You glance over and see that I have a tent in my pants as my half a foot plus one inch sized cock has gotten aroused and is pushing forward towards you. This is nothing new. It has happened to you before. After all, massage is such an erotic, intimate activity. You wonder why your married or committed friends don’t do it to each other more often. Maybe they would stay together if they did.

You wonder what I would be like to be suddenly ravished. With my hands, fingers, chest, tongue, mind, you know what. It has been a long time but you know that nothing will happen because I’m a "licensed professional", after all. You feel me continue massaging your firm thighs. First, your left, then your right, then your left again as it seems tenser.

I start to move my hand over when you suddenly adjust your position downward and shift your ass. My right hand boldly meets your wet slick pussy, my left reaches under you and covers your left breast as I feel your erect nipple try to push its way through my fingers like a new volcano is a farmer’s field in Mexico and you moan softly from the sudden changes in my slow, gentle hands. You tilt your head to merge your soft lips with mine, eagerly await feeling my tongue thrust inside you like a behaving cock and . . .

If you want to find out the rest of the story (even as phone sex) or to act it out with or without a partner of either gender or more, you're going to have to e-mail me at yento@scn.org

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